


Training Exercise: "Watching Amy and Kim at Friend School"

by henghost



Series: My (non-fan)Fiction [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henghost/pseuds/henghost
Summary: In this exercise we'll examine the relationship between two roommates at Friend School, Amy and Kim.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: My (non-fan)Fiction [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840654
Kudos: 2





	Training Exercise: "Watching Amy and Kim at Friend School"

The following are training materials. Please do not reproduce without explicit permission.

#

After the presentation Ms. Ivy says to me, "I'm watching you," which makes me blush. She says, "I think you've got a lot of potential." And I squeak back thank you and rush out of the lecture hall, back to our room, where Kim's on her bed reading something with a sultry princess on the cover. I tell her: "Guess who said they were watching me because I have potential?"

"Who?"

"Ms. Ivy."

And she rolls her eyes and goes back to her book. I'd like to be angry at her for this but I could never be angry at Kim. I lie on my own bed on the other side of the room. Our room is wide but low (I have to crouch coming in despite the fact I'm not actually all that tall), and so when we're each in our beds there's like a huge chasm between Kim and I.

I say, "I think I'm in love with her."

Kim says, "With Ms. Ivy? I think she's kind of gross."

"Well, you're wrong. She's the best Friend there ever was."

"I heard she got divorced because she was spending so much time being a Friend. So, you know, shoot your shot I guess."

"I fuckin' hate you."

"You too," she says, and turns out the light. There's still about half an hour until Lights Out, and I'd like to be angry about this transgression as well, but it's not like I have anything to do. It's times like these I wish we were allowed phones or even mp3 players. It gets so quiet here at night. The silence bears down on me like a thousand feet of water. Alone with my thoughts I can think of nothing but the future….

Soon I can hear Kim snoring, at which point I creep out of bed, out of the room. The Night Staff -- this three hundred pound guy whose face is so red it glows in the dark -- asks me where I'm going, and I say the bathroom, and he says okay. The bathroom at the end of the corridor smells of bleach. I go in a stall and sit on the toilet and put my face in my hands and cry silently. Sometimes I think Kim really does hate me.

#

It's the end of a quarter so in the morning our grades are posted in the lobby for everyone to see. I look at mine and blush. Top of the class, of course. Charisma: A. Speaking: A. Passion: A. Et cetera. Kim, whose eyes are drooping under the weight of massive purple bags, looks at hers and sort of joggles her head back and forth as if to say: fine. Some of the others groan and then come up to me to give their congratulations, and I respond with the sort of bashful modesty I've perfected since I've been here.

Mr. Lee is late to first period, and the air is suffused with gossip:

"Did you hear?" goes Zoe. "About Ann?"

"Oh my god I did!" goes Gus.

"What happened?" goes Eva.

"Ask Emi," goes Zoe, "she was there when it happened."

"It was awful," goes Emi. "Okay so last night after Lights Out I was just in bed with my eyes open because I wasn't tired at all, but it was dark and so Ann couldn't see that I had my eyes open, and then but so she got out of bed and I was going, 'What the hell is she doing?' but I didn't say that out loud because I wanted to see what she'd do. And she like took all her bedding and sorted of twisted it and twisted it until it was like a rope, and then she looped one end of it around our ceiling fan -- and here I was basically starting get the picture, but I guess part of me just wanted to see how far she'd go -- and then when she had finished making the noose and I was about to jump up and stop her the Night Staff burst through our door and went like, 'Wait! Stop!' That's why she's not in class today. I think they're probably going to kick her out."

"You really just watched her tie the noose?" goes Gus.

"What else was I supposed to do?" goes Emi.

Listening to this sends a shiver down my spine, and thankfully just then Mr. Lee comes into the classroom with his thinning black hair sticking up at wild angles. Mr. Lee teaches a class called Pathos 101. He tells us to settle down then launches into his lecture,  _ in media res _ from where he stopped yesterday:

"...And so regardless of whether it is quote-unquote 'good' or 'bad,' pathos is always desirable when it comes to dealing with your Client. Let's examine some examples -- Gus, would you pass these out? -- this is a transcript of an interaction between one Ms. Ivy and Client #290. We'll investigate how--"

Then as if she has been conjured Ms. Ivy comes through the door and goes, "Mr. Lee, my apologies, but might I be able to steal Ms. Amy from your classroom?"

The others turn to look at me, and I blush again, and Mr. Lee looks at me with his haywire grin and nods and I gather my stuff and put it in my bag and scurry out the door behind Ms. Ivy. Ms. Ivy is tall and has this like flawless creamy skin and always wears a knee-length skirt. I think I'm in love with her. She's wordless while she leads me up to the third floor and into her office, which is perhaps smaller than I was expecting, with plush carpet and a Seventies sort of sensibility. She gestures for me to sit in a big squishy armchair, and I do. She sits behind her wide mahogany desk and smiles at me. She's wearing thick bright-red lipstick. Us Students aren't allowed makeup.

"Amy," she says. Her voice is somehow floral. "I bet you're wondering why I've asked to speak with you today."

I nod sheepishly.

"Well, I saw your report card this morning. Straight A's, Amy! And last night at my seminar thing I was really impressed by your answers and things, remember? and so I've been thinking about it a lot and well sometimes I like to take on what you might call a protege."

"A protege?" I say, and blush.

"Yes. I've been in this business a while. Look there -- that's my trophy I received for winning the Friend Championship of 2030. And up there behind me is my Presidential Medal of Freedom. So what I'm saying is I have a not insignificant amount of advice to hand out. And, you, Amy, I feel are in a position to not only understand such high-level advice but also to apply it. So what I'm proposing is that sometimes I pull you out of class and give you some one-on-one lessons. How does that sound to you?"

And what can I do but agree? 

#

A little bit ago Kim told me a story. It was in the hour before Lights Out, and we were both sitting with our arms around our knees on the hardwood that lies in the chasm between our two beds. I can't remember the conversation that led up to it but at one point she went, "Wanna hear a story?"

And I was like, "Sure."

"So okay this was in Freshman Year, before I got accepted into Friend School. I was kind of a loner back then. Back then? It was basically the same as it is now in terms of how many 'friends' I had. But I had one really nice teacher. Her name was Ms. Tan. Just started that year, and so I guess we already had something in common, and I'd like speak to her after class and things like that. I think I was in love with her. And then so after school one day in the evening I was like bored and hormonal and so I was looking at pictures of her -- the pictures they'd put up on the school website. And I was well you know like touching myself. Not a big deal. But then the next day after our class together -- which was History -- she was like, 'Kim, can I talk to you for a second?' and I was like 'Sure.' And so she took me into her tiny little office and said, 'Look, I'm gonna come right out and say it: I saw what you were doing last night.' And I was panicking and in my head I was going like, 'What? How?' but obviously I couldn't say that out loud, so instead I just stood there with my face all red. And she said, 'I think that's not such a healthy student-teacher relationship to have, Kim. I'm married, you know. So if you could please refrain from such behavior in the future....' And I nodded and was so embarrassed by it I went home that evening and right away applied to Friend School without even telling my parents."

#

Dinner is always at five p.m., and Kim and I always eat together on the ledge of this big bay window at the southernmost wall of the cafeteria, which is (the cafeteria is) on the second floor of the building. Tonight it's sirloin steak. It's good to eat with someone because there's always Staff in the cafeteria with clipboards making note of your Sociability Quotient, which gets incorporated into your final Friend Quotient at the end of the semester. Here's some of our conversation:

I say, "So guess who pulled me out of class to talk to me today and said I would be her 'protege.'"

She says, "I don't want to."

"Ms. Ivy."

"Gross."

"She's not gross, she's beautiful. And really good at what she does. She showed me her Presidential Medal of Freedom. I didn't even know you could get that working as a Friend. Although I guess they are federal employees. I guess we will be federal employees."

"You probably will. I'm not so sure about my own like prospects. That Legality class is sort of kicking my ass."

"Legality, you mean with Mrs. Mae? I could like tutor you or something. I think it's pretty easy. Mrs. Mae does kind of suck though you're right."

"I don't know anyone in that class. It's so lonely. And she speaks so quietly. I've been here like almost a year and I feel like I don't know anyone. I feel like no one here speaks my language. Except you I guess."

"Aww."

"Quit smiling like that. Ann's in that Legality class."

"Oh yeah shit did you hear what happened with her?"

"Yeah. I overheard Emi and Ari talking about it. I think those two are sleeping together by the way. But yeah I remember a couple weeks ago I was complaining to her about that class and she like whispered in my ear and said like she had a Vyvanse prescription and was willing to give me one, and I felt sort of past caring at that point and so I said sure, and it was awful. It made me feel like I was in a horror movie. My heart went so fast. And I gagged at the scent of my own breath. Ann's been going through a lot, I think."

And then Kim has finished her sirloin steak and so she stands and goes to throw the remnants away and when she's behind the Staff -- this tall guy with a head like a walnut -- she surreptitiously flips him off, which makes me giggle.

Gradually the Student body returns to the dormitory area. This part of the day is officially Free Time, but Kim and I usually just like to stay in our room and "work on things." Tonight the only thing I can focus on is the muffled sound of pop music coming from the Lounge, which is where the majority of Students spend their Free Time. It's the sort of pop music that is mostly concerned with a vapid sort of self-empowerment. Really I should be working on my presentation for Ms. Wen's Finance class, which happens to be the only class I share with Kim. I wonder what will happen with Ms. Ivy. I wonder what she'll teach me. It boosts my self-esteem an almost embarrassing amount to know that she thinks I have potential. God she's so beautiful....

When the sun has fully disappeared Kim says, "Amy, can I like talk to you a second?"

I say, "Sure, Kim," and we sit with our legs crossed in the wide hardwood chasm.

She says, "I'm really glad we got put in the same room," and sort of looks away, and I blush.

"Me, too."

"I really like you."

"I really like you, too."

"And without you I'd be so lonely."

"I'd be lonely without you, too, Kim."

Kim's got this long and wavy black hair. Although she doesn't really care about what she looks like, I still think she's quite pretty. She stands up and walks across the chasm to sit closer to me. Then she kisses me, which really I'm okay with. That's the way things have to happen in Friend School: abruptly. There's no room for anything else. I kiss her back. She smells like sirloin steak. I probably do as well.

Maybe thirty seconds later, though, our door (which doesn't lock, by the way) swings open, and we stop kissing and there's the big red Night Staff whose shift must have just begun and he says in a jowly voice: "Cut it out, you two! That's not allowed!" And we nod as if to say, "Yes, sir,” and then crawl into our respective beds. 

How did he know?

Later that night I repeat my bathroom crying ritual although obviously for different reasons this time.

#

Next day I'm in Voyeurism giving a presentation. It's about how to convey a sense of intimacy to your Client. "So essentially the key is in curating the amount of 'personal' information you give out. Too little you'll come off as cold and distant. On the other hand, too much and you'll end up looking like, well, a camgirl."

This last quip causes a small burst of laughter. It's an allusion to the fact that my mother is in fact a "camgirl," or, as she would have it, an online burlesque entertainer. It's not as if I'm embarrassed by this, but mentioning it in this sort of self-effacing way has its utility. A reminder that my success isn't due to having come from old money or anything like that. Actually my mother's profession played a big role in my decision to come here, to Friend School. I remember one time I'd invited a friend over -- which I was quite proud of myself for doing, by the way -- and she went through the wrong door looking for the bathroom and caught my mom in the act, as it were, and she (my friend) left quickly with her face all red and didn't speak to me for a week after that, and I remember thinking: I've got to get out of her as fast as possible.

Anyway, presently Ms. Ivy comes into the classroom and beckons for me to come with her -- "I hope that isn't a problem Ms. Ira?" -- and I do, and we traipse silently through the corridors, up the stairs, inside her cute little office, sit across from one another. She crosses her legs and I mirror her. She says, "So how've you been?"

"Just fine, Ms. Ivy," I say, and take note of the fact that I'm speaking in a voice that isn't mine.

"Keeping those grades up?"

"Sure am."

"Great. That's just great. Well, look, I'll get right down to it, Amy, I've got a bit of a lesson for you here today. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great, Ms. Ivy."

"Ha ha ha, well, you just wait until I explain it. I'll be honest, I'm not what you'd call a merciful person. Certainly I would not have attained the success that I have if I were. Do you see what I'm saying? Let's see, who's that roommate of yours? Kim -- that's right. And you two are close, aren't you? I read the Night Staff's report last night, so I guess I already know the answer to that question, ha ha ha."

I blush.

"Well," she continues, "I certainly can't blame you for all that. I know it can get lonely here in the thick of it. But it's important, however, to always keep your eyes on the prize. Don't let anything get in the way of your goals. You so much potential, Amy, and it'd be a real shame if some silly roommate got in your way. In fact that's what this first lesson is all about. It's a dog-eat-dog world in the Friend industry. You might even call it unFriendly. It's important to get into that mode of thought as early as possible. So, well, I'll come right out and say it: I want you to sabotage Kim."

"Sabotage?"

"Sure. You two have a class together, right? So maybe you could destroy a paper of hers, or maybe cause some sort of interruption to a presentation she gives. How does that sound? Actually, I don't care how it sounds. It's what I want you to do. You wouldn't want to disappoint me so early in your tenure as my protege, would you?"

And what am I supposed to do? Refuse?

On the way back to class I peer out the window onto the courtyard and see paramedics pushing a stretcher back toward the parking lot. Ann is the one in the stretcher, I'm sure, although I can't quite get a good look. I can only see a girl with dark hair with an oxygen mask over her face.

That night in our room I can't look at Kim, although I feel her eyes all over me. I'm sure she senses that something's wrong. Then when it's Lights Out and the only illumination comes from the milky moon, down through the slatted window, she says to me, "Hey, Amy, sorry for saying Ms. Ivy was gross.

I say in a mousy voice, "It's fine."

"I'm also sorry about kissing you."

"..."

"I won't do it again."

"..."

Then she's silent until her snoring starts, at which point I consider going to the bathroom to cry, but the thought of seeing the obese Night Staff tonight terrifies me, and so instead I stare wide-eyed at the ceiling until sleep as thin as a burlap sack falls over me.

#

All throughout the next day my stomach thrums like a microwave. I can't eat. At breakfast I watch as Kim shovels perhaps too many pieces of bacon down her throat. First period passes, then second, then third, then Lunch, which I skip entirely. Finally fourth period is Finance with Ms. Wen. Kim and I sit next together in the boxy soup-smelling classroom that has no windows whatsoever.

Eventually Ms. Wen who is small and wrinkled says, "Ms. Kim, I believe it is your turn to present."

(Most teachers here often prefer presentations over more conventional exams, likely because of the public speaking practice such an assignment provides.)

Kim goes, "Okay," in a wobbly voice, and she stands and pulls a stack of note cards from her backpack and steps birdlike up to the front of the class. "Today," she says, "I will discuss venture capitalism and the role it plays in the Friend industry and its governmental infrastructure. To begin...."

If this presentation does not go well Kim will probably fail this class. I feel as though I might throw up any minute now. Some maniacal voice in the back of my skull is going: do it do it do it.

"...example let us examine," says Kim, "how the Lobbying Crisis of 2027 has informalized -- sorry I mean--"

"Don't you mean 'informed?'" I say.

"Quiet down, Amy," goes Ms. Wen sleepily.

"Yes -- thank you, Amy -- has  _ informed _ the policy direction with regard to the -- to the -- to the...." She trails off and looks down and shuffles through her notes. Has she misplaced one?

I say, "Wow, Kim, I thought you'd be better at this. Didn't you practice? Or were you too busy at night, you know, lezzing out...?"

Sporadic snickering around us, some  _ oohs _ here and there. Kim looks up with her mouth like a flattened donut and her face alternates between beet-red and bleach-white at a rate that seems impossible. I'm worried for a moment that she'll start to yell back at me, but she only lets her notes flutter to the floor and puts her face in her hands and dashes out of the room. I feel everyone's eyes on me, Ms. Ivy’s specter patting me on the back, and--

#

"Okay," says the presenter, Mr. Jon, "I think that's as good a place as any to stop." Mr. Jon is tall and thin and white and always wears a flannel and khakis to class. Today his flannel is a red and black, and his khakis are tight and creased down the center. He wears glasses, as well, square-rimmed and black with lenses that are somehow ultra-reflective. They almost appear opaque against the fluorescent bulbs of the classroom, which is (the classroom is) arranged in the traditional way with desks in five rows of six. Only seven of the thirty desks are currently occupied. The title of this course is:  The Power of Narrative in Friendship Education. "Let me hear your initial reactions," says Mr. Jon.

“Wait,” says Jay, whose attire is accountantish, “but there’s another section we didn’t get to?”

“Eh,” says Mr. Jon. “Mostly falling action. Plus we’re short on time.” 

Jad raises his thick arm. Jad is a mid-thirties white man with the sort of fashion sense you associate with golf aficionados. Cheap-looking polo and chino-shorts and a gold Rolex on his right wrist, which is (in other words his right wrist is) red with a scratching-induced rash. His wife of seven years is spending the week in a hotel downtown due to a falling out between the two that involved a down-payment on a boat.

"Yes, Jad," says Mr. Jon.

"I thought it was like pretty hot," says Jad. "With that girl jacking off and then the two girls making out and so on."

Four of the other Students laugh at this: Ava, Hal, Jay, and Lee. Val, on the other hand, does not laugh. In fact she makes a face like someone's stepped on a rat right in front of her. She says, "That's disgusting, Jad." Val is a sophomore at CU Boulder and is small and dark and wide and dressed in clothes that look like they've been in her wardrobe since she hit puberty. She is attending this class as part of an internship program with the Federal Department of Friendship. "Queer women are a fetishized minority, and fetishization is perhaps the most insidious form of dehumanization. I thought the story was quite melancholic. It had almost the quality of a parable...."

"Quite right, Ms. Val," says Mr. Jon. Jad sort of makes the shape of a face with his right hand and flaps it open and closed. "Please refrain from inappropriate comments like that in the future, Jad. Recall that these exercises are derived from real experiences that real Friend School Students have been through. But yes, Val, I too was struck by the parable-ish feel of the story. Parables have lessons or morals for their audience. What do we think the moral of this story is? Yes -- Hal."

Hal “The Robot” Hoy resembles his namesake from the critically revered film  _ 2001: A Space Odyssey _ (dir. Stanley Kubrick), although perhaps with somewhat of a stoner aspect as well. He says, “I thought if this narrative might have a ‘lesson’ -- and part of me thinks that to say so would be to do it a disservice -- it probably has something to do with that girl Ann. On one hand we’re given such an intimate portrait of Amy, whereas we’re left to—” 

"Let me stop you right there," says Mr. Jon, and runs two fingers through his coarse black goatee. "Because you’re getting into interesting territory. Very interesting. For example I'm not entirely sure I agree with you in terms of Ann. In fact -- oh, damn -- the time. Sorry for keeping you all so long. Ava you can stop the recording here -- and thanks again for filming this for Lia. We'll continue this discussion in our next meeting. Until then I want you to finish Ms. Ivy's autobiography and come back prepared to talk about it. Same time next week?" 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always appreciated :)


End file.
